I smile. “Anywhere in the world, eh?”
8
I have the roof down on my car and I’m resting my arm over the side, cruising at an even eighty on the dusty, twelve-mile stretch of road that cuts through the desert on the outskirts of Abu Dhabi. I’ve always viewed driving as a necessity rather than a pleasure. But then, I’ve never really done it without a reason. And I’m not a hardcore enthusiast or anything, but, seriously — this car is amazing! It’s an Aston Martin, fresh off the production line. I think there are only about thirty available. It’s jet black with large chrome trims, and a mixture of brown leather and cloth on the interior. I opted for both — with the temperatures as high as they are out here, if it was all leather, I’d never be able to sit in the damn thing without burning the skin off my ass!
It’s electric, too, which is a big thing nowadays. Ironic, given this country has always been one of the biggest exporters of crude oil… Having said that, they used to sell a lot more than they are now. Because of everything that’s happened recently, it’s no surprise that the U.S. is now the gatekeeper for most of the world’s oil, so maybe they’re playing it smart and covering their asses by investing in alternatives, I don’t know.
As part of their environmentally friendly approach to transportation, all the roads around here have had these heavy-duty solar panels laid over them. They look like normal roads, except they’re far stronger and more durable, as well as much easier to maintain. All electric cars have paneling underneath the chassis now, so it will charge itself as you drive around in it. It was a concept designed a few years ago, but now the balance of global wealth has shifted dramatically, and with all the uninhabitable land and residual radiation everywhere, the environment has become a priority for everyone. Thanks to GlobaTech — who else? — with their research and funding, it took maybe two months to essentially re-cover the entire city with these panels. There are many people looking for work nowadays, too, so it was a quick and easy job.
I figured I should do my part, which is why, when I spent almost three million dollars on this car, I went for the electric version.
It’s the least I can do…
Man, I love it here! I’ve bought a place on Al Reem Island, which is an up-and-coming part of the city near the coast. It’s just… beautiful. It took me a couple weeks to acclimatize — to the lifestyle, as well as the weather — but I’m actually happy. I’m actively trying to forget my old life. Adrian Hell is dead. His spirit very much lives on, don’t get me wrong — I’ve carried out two contracts for The Order since I moved here, both of which were straightforward and relatively easy for me — but the persona is dead.
Thanks to The Order of Sabbah, I’m now legally known as Brad Foley.
I know… weird, right?
I struggled with it at first, too, but I finally got around to realizing a couple of things. First of all, my life has sucked, badly, for longer than I care to remember. I’ve fucking earned this shit! Even when I had billions of dollars of my own, I didn’t really enjoy it — not in the typical sense, anyway. Yes, I bought a bar and started over, but I used what I needed to so I could have a quiet life. This time, I’m using what I want to so I can actually enjoy myself.
And that’s the second thing I’ve realized. I shouldn’t feel weird or guilty for doing this. I know Josh would be happy for me, and proud of me for finally living my life instead of simply existing solely to end other people’s. Believing that, helps me deal with the choices I made that ultimately got me here. A lot has happened in a short space of time, and I needed to slow things down, take stock, and relax.
I even got a tattoo, to mark the beginning of this new life. I wanted a permanent reminder of where I am now, but also where I came from… what I’ve been through. A tribute to my former self, so to speak. I kept it simple. On the inside of my right forearm, in a nice, Latin-inspired font, are four letters: WWJD.
What Would Josh Do?
He might think I’m dead, but he’s still keeping me in line!
I hit the Abu Dhabi city limits and drop to a more acceptable speed. The noise of civilization grows all around, and shadows begin to stretch across the streets as immense buildings dominate the skyline.
There’s a healthy mixture of everyday life and extravagance here. It’s one of the places that didn’t become suddenly over-populated by refugees searching for a new life in this post-4/17 world, simply because no one was allowed to. But the government and the Sheikhs have contributed billions to foreign aid initiatives, so they’ve done more than their fair share to help out. What remains here is a thriving, largely unaffected population, concerned about the rest of the world, but living their own lives as normal, with as many luxuries as they can afford.
I fit right in.
I’m actually on my way to an appointment. It may or may not be a bad thing, depending on how you look at it, but there’s a lot of downtime when you’re in The Order. All the money and freedom in the world certainly helps, but personally, I found I get bored easily. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the city, but more often than not, I find myself sitting alone in a bar somewhere, drinking till dawn.
It’s a lot of time to be left alone with only your thoughts for company.
As great as this new life is, and as genuinely happy as I feel, I admit I’ve… struggled, I guess, with a sense of guilt that I know I should ignore, but I can’t. I’ve no one to talk to — no Josh to keep me sane. It’s just my own mind and a lot of beer, which isn’t a good combination.
That’s why I’ve sought help.
I’m sitting in a slightly reclined leather chair, staring out the window at the scorching metropolis sprawling below me. The single room is a converted apartment on the top floor of a four-story building, nestled in the center of a small office complex just a short walk from Mangrove National Park. It’s largely devoid of any decoration, which is probably a strategic decision more than anything else. The carpet is new and still soft underfoot, the walls are plain and painted in a warm, neutral color, and the air conditioning is blasting out, keeping the modest space nicely chilled.
Sitting across from me, in a less comfortable looking chair, is a woman. She has dark brown hair tied up in a ponytail, and thin, pointed glasses resting low on her nose. Her high cheekbones are pronounced on her thin face, and her smile is friendly and welcoming, and accompanies a manner that is never anything but professional.
Her name is Kaitlyn Moss. She’s a highly-qualified and very expensive psychotherapist. I found her purely by chance. She’s American, but moved out here a few years ago once she’d qualified. I’ve been spending an hour with her four times a week since I moved to Abu Dhabi. I know… weird, right? But I need to talk to someone, and due to lack of options, I figured this was probably the best way to go. I can speak with confidence and without fear of judgment. It may only be a small amount of time, but I’ve been finding it a big help.
Of course, I have to gloss over some of the specifics when addressing certain topics. While it’s confidential, as a therapist, she’s still obligated to report me if she believes I could cause harm to myself or others, or if I intend breaking the law.
Yeah… there’s been a lot of glossing over!
Kaitlyn is sitting with her legs crossed and her hands clasped on her lap with a notepad beneath them. She’s just asked me about Lily — how I feel about her, and how that makes me feel, and I’m thinking about my answer. She’s watching me, observing.